Ivan waited, speechless, for her answer. He instinctively recalled the words offered many years ago, divorced from their original context: I wouldn’t let him take you from me, despite his claims. You were mine, and I told him as much. The conceited fool.
“She cried, pleaded, and abused me horribly. She didn’t want to abandon you…but she seemed equally devoted to the books. Finally, she suggested a compromise.”
Again, Ivan was speechless yet desperate for her response.
“I could have you for a year. If, in a year’s time, she had not learned to read the spells in the book, she would return them. However, on the off-chance she learned to read a hundred dialects of obscure magical cant, the boy was mine and I could apprentice him to the devil for all she cared.”
“She…she left me? To you?”
“I’ll never forget her parting words,” Blackbeard said, meeting his eyes. “They were simply, good-bye, and may the pair of you be damned.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ivan no longer doubted his words. He could hear his mother behind it, every phrase and accent. That loving voice that called him her own, her darling, her love…it poisoned him. He could almost taste the hatred as she spoke of her past, that insidious fairy-tale told to him night after night to torment his sleep. And he believed every word.
“I don’t remember you…any of this,” he said.
“No, you wouldn’t remember. It was before your first year. Your mother left with the Duke (whom she soon abandoned in turn) and made her way to Russia to decipher the books. I began raising you as my own…I was prepared to teach you everything.”
It’s lies, all lies, he tried to tell to himself. But that was still her, speaking through him, twisting his thoughts. She would never let him believe it. What he felt himself was difficult to explain. Betrayal and anger, certainly, but also regret, even longing. How different his life might have been growing up as Blackbeard’s apprentice. A loving father willing to teach him his secrets, instead of turning him into one. So why had he given him back? Even if his mother returned, how could he simply abandon him, knowing who she was? Blackbeard guessed his question and responded,
“She returned toward the end of the year and asked for more time,” he said, with wtastea laugh. “As if an entire lifetime could teach her those forbidden glyphs! I told her it was useless, that she would never be a magician—not without my help. So I offered to teach you both.”
“But why?” Ivan asked. “When she betrayed you?”
“Quite simply, I thought I could save her. And…I was foolishly in love. She had tremendous power over men…even when I despised her she never strayed far from my thoughts.”
Ivan understood. He had glimpsed flickers of lies and shadows, yet love always triumphed. And like so many men before him, he believed he was the one; the one she loved above all others, the one she would never betray.
“Did she stay?”
“Reluctantly, yes,” the sorcerer nodded. “Though I could see her hatching plots, unable to concentrate on a single lesson. Within a few weeks the pair of you vanished. At first I plotted to hunt her down and destroy her, a fearsome, humiliating end. But as the days passed, my passion cooled, and I decided to drive her out of my memory. It was done. Our ties were severed.”
“You never saw her again?” Ivan asked, incredulously.
“No, never.”
“And you never…thought about me?”
“Of course I did. Quite often,” he said. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Seeing you now, I regret my indifference. I never imagined you would…well, not like this. I take some responsibility for the result.”
“Do you?” Ivan said, angrily. “And is this your repentance—having me die so my wretched half-brother can live? Do you feel at peace with your decision now?”
Blackbeard grinned nervously, an unusual expression for him. He had no proper response to his question.
“I admit, revenge was partially behind it. I wanted to destroy one of her works as she had destroyed so many of mine. And it seemed you were beyond redemption, with your head on the chopping block, so to speak…”
“Why is he better than me?” Ivan demanded. “What did he do that I couldn’t do, if given the chance?”
“Who can say?” the sorcerer shrugged. “But I promised your father to protect him. The spell was merely part of it. His dying wish was that I look after him, and I gave him my word. I would have done the same for you…but it was not meant to be.”
“Because of her?” he spat. “She gets to decide my fate? A woman you knew was a fool—a woman who had betrayed your trust!”
“There’s no going against fate,” Blackbeard said, decisively. “I tried to interfere and fate rearranged the board. If I had punished her and stolen you back, there would be consequences…I had to let go.”
“So I was doomed? From birth?”
“We all are. Some just meet it sooner than others.”
Ivan laughed—a frustrated, almost panicked exclamation. All his efforts, all his studies, all his revs, st meet itenge…all for this? To fulfill the ancient prophecy of his doom? Why should he suffer while his mother—wherever she was—lived and breathed? What cruel, indifferent gods had picked him over her? Or had she ensnared them, too?
“No one is given all the pieces,” Blackbeard said, his words filling up the room. “It may seem like your brother has a complete set, but no, even he won’t finish the game. No one can win. We can only think about the moves we have and make them count. Make them remembered.”
“Remembered?” he scoffed. “By whom?”
“By those watching the game. We play for their amusement.”
Ivan thought about this and felt strangely abandoned. What move could he make that anyone could approve? His choices in life--or across the board, if you will--had all been motivated by fear, desire, and revenge. And they had ultimately finished him. His pieces were lost; his will was broken; his revenge no longer mattered. He just wanted to finish the game.
“Very well, then. Open the box.”
Chapter Nineteen
Blackbeard’s eyes widened. A look of approval spread over his face.
“If she’s still alive…tell her I knew the truth.”
“She lives, I’ve heard reports,” the sorcerer nodded. “I think I know where to find her.”
Blackbeard clasped him on the shoulder, which Ivan accepted but inwardly resisted. He owed the sorcerer much, but to accept him as a friend, even now, escaped him. Maybe he never could.
“Now then, I’ll conjure the spell. You won’t feel a thing…just like drifting off to sleep.”
“And what will I find on the other side?” Ivan asked.
“The only thing I remember is peace. No other sensation or emotion.”
“So you’ve been there?”
“Just for a moment. Even so, it was hard to come back.”
“Then let’s get this over with.”
Blackbeard glided over to the box and grasped the final key. Something stirred within the box. I know this is the only way, and yet I question whether it’s the right one…but fate left me no choice. The boy is right, he was doomed from the start. The sorcerer uttered the fateful words, lulling Ivan’s Death to sleep…preparing him to receive Leopold’s. Surprisingly, Ivan didn’t seem lethargic or otherwise affected. Hmm…not what I expected, Blackbeard mused. Perhaps I should…
With a moment’s hesitation, during which he replayed several key moments of his life, he opened the lock. The resulting click echoed throughout the room. Blackbeard took a step back, poised to defend himself if necessary. One never knew how a Death, trapped unlawfully for so many years, would react to its captors. It reminٯ'he room. Bded him of that old story of the Jinn and the lamp...
The box was silent. Blackbeard waited for a several minutes before staring back at Ivan, who seemed similarly unnerved.
“When does it…?” Ivan whispered.
“It should have already. I’m not sure…�
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Blackbeard approached the box and uttered a few incantations under his breath. No response. He had no choice but to open the lid. Come out, come out! When it didn’t respond, he reluctantly turned his head and dropped his eyes into the darkest depths of the box.
Zounds! The Death had grown, turned in on itself, tunneled under the box to accommodate its snake-like tail. He had seen many Deaths before, but none like this…it almost lived and breathed!
“He’s ready for you,” Blackbeard said.
The Death fixed its eyes on him, which narrowed horribly. It seemed to know who he was. A voice spoke in his head—a mixture of voices, really, parodying the whimper of a child and the wheeze of an ailing man. It rejected Ivan. It wanted him. Sorcerer’s tricks were no good here. It was the Death of a single man and it would take him. And her…she would also serve its turn. Blackbeard grew cold at this statement; it wanted Mary as well! No Death could take more than one life, much less desire it.
“But why? What do you need her for?” he ventured to ask.
They are bound, it responded. The two are one. You’ve starved me and now I want both. I demand it. It told him to close the box, remove the charlatan and bring the others before it grew impatient. Otherwise, terrible things would happen.
“What…terrible things?”
It said it was now a creature of this earth. It could cause many deaths. Did he want to be responsible for unleashing such a plague on the world? He had one hour. It would sleep until then...but its hunger never slept. Before Blackbeard could protest a tentacle snapped the lid shut. The sorcerer stepped back, shaken to his core. What had he done? And what could he do, given the incredible nature of his opponent? He was outmatched, far beyond the feeble limits of his knowledge and power. There was nothing he could do.
“Should I come back later?” Ivan asked, uncertainly.
“It doesn’t want you,” Blackbeard said, blankly. “You’re free of your obligation.”
“That’s it? Just like that?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“So fate wants me to live? But you said—”
“I can’t explain…I was simply wrong.”
“Then she was right about one thing,” Ivan said, with a slight grin.
“She? You mean—”
“Yes. She promised me—you’ll be there the day he fails. You’ll watch the great Hildigrim Blackbeard defeated by his own magic.”
“I congratulate her,” he nodded, grimly. “My failure is complete.”
Chapter Twenty
Leopold sat entwined with Mary on a window bench, a view of the mountains and the afternoon sun behind them. They eagerly drank each other in, marveling at details they had often imagined but found even more novel in person. She cooed over his eyes, the way they shone at every angle; he rhapsodized over the gentle turn of her nose. Such were the rules of the game: not to touch or kiss, but to fondle with the eyes, exploring every curve and crevice. They no longer cared about Ivan or the sorcerer’s forebodings. This moment existed for eternity, stretching out over the mountains, effacing the petty kingdoms of earth. They ruled in solitary splendor.
“I want to kiss you,” she whispered.
“No, that’s against the rules—looking only,” he cautioned.
“May I cheat? Just a little?”
“So you forfeit? Does that mean I win?”
“If necessary, then yes. You win. May I reward you now?”
“Ah, shouldn’t we…”
“There’s no should or shouldn’t. No why or why not,” she said, leaning closer.
“But Blackbeard—”
“He can’t play.”
“Ha, I wasn’t suggesting…but what if he needs us? The spell?”
“We don’t need his magic anymore. Unless this frightens you…”
She stopped his response with a kiss. The game was forgotten. They were on the verge of falling off the seat when something sounded—a horn, a shout, a distant trampling.
“I hear—”
“Nothing,” she breathed.
“Open the gates!” several voices shouted from below.
The lovers gasped and looked down, beholding a small army of men standing at the gates. Mary shrieked.
“Zounds! It’s them—my family—they’ve found me!”
“Your family?”
“I left clues, all of them leading in the wrong direction. None of them here. How in the world…?”
Of course, she knew before she could finish the sentence. Her one confidant and the very person who could never swcoue="+0">“allow a secret: her cousin. In a careless moment she had mentioned her infatuation with the Count, and how one day, if she ever had encouragement, she might actually run away. Unfortunately, she did so in a letter…a letter that Gretchen (hateful name!) no doubt innocently produced for her father.
The soldiers loudly repeated their order. The guards refused, saying they had strict orders from the Count himself. This response was challenged with a counter-offer: produce the Count at once or they would storm the castle. Mary clutched Leopold miserably, realizing her gambit had failed. Her father had insisted that she marry the Duke—running away would only harden his determination. Without a marriage, they would be the laughing-stock of the kingdom; he would be turned away from the best houses, all because of a daughter’s foolish determination to marry the man she loved. Hardly a compelling argument to a man who only loved two things: money and power.
“Leopold, it’s over!” she whimpered.
“No, this is simple—I’ll deny everything,” he said, excitedly. “They can’t prove a thing!”
“Leopold, they know—they’ll search the palace. Perhaps even arrest you!”
“Arrest me? On what authority?”
“You don’t know my father,” she said, through a sob. “We’re ruined.”
“They’ll have to find us first! And the palace is quite big—even I haven’t explored it all.”
Mary nodded, tears in her eyes. Their time was up. So much for eternity and their private kingdom. It would vanish within the hour.
“If they marry me off to him I’ll jump from the tower, I won’t suffer another man—”
“Wait, this isn’t over,” he said, taking her hand. “No talk of killing ourselves or other men. We still have time.”
“Where should we go?”
“I know just the place—the catacombs. It’s cold and terrifying, but the last place they’ll look. Let’s go!”
She took his hand and they ran out the door—and straight into Blackbeard. The sorcerer caught them affectionately, though his eyes expressed pain and regret. They nodded pitifully in return. He came to warn them, perhaps even to suggest a suitable hiding spot.
“Yes, we know, we’re leaving for the catacombs,” the Count replied.
“Catacombs?” Blackbeard said.
“I knew they would find me, I just hoped not for a month, even a year,” she said. “Is there anything you can do…to give us time?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow…who has found you?”
“What do you mean? You heard the soldiers!” Leopold said.
“Soldiers? Where? What’s going on?”
“Her family—they’ve come for her! She ran away, remember? But I’m not giving her up.”
Blackbeard shook his head with a foreboding laugh. Yes, why not invite a troupe of soldiers to join the party! They were about to ask why he found this even slightly amusing when Ivan appeared at his side.
“You!” What’s he doing here?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, that’s why I’m here,” Blackbeard said. “The spell didn’t work. Your death…”
They immediately understood.
“But the box…it’s still locked, right?” Mary asked, breathlessly.
The look on Blackbeard’s face left nothing in doubt: the box was open, his Death was out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mary slumped against the wall, utterly broken.
They could run away from her father, from the armies of the earth…but from death? And unlike her father it knew exactly where he was. She looked at Leopold, saw him dying all over again from Ivan’s hand. But this time he wouldn’t come back. She had fooled herself into thinking that love alone had saved him. Love, of course, meant nothing to death. It was implacable and unfeeling; it consumed life and nothing more. And now it was here…roaming the palace hallways. Slinking like a cat in the shadows, its eyes shining, seeking him out.
“Why didn’t it take him?” Leopold asked.
“Your Death wasn’t so easily fooled,” the sorcerer said. “Other Deaths, perhaps…but yours has a mind, a will, of its own.”
“But you said it would work! You promised!” Mary said.
“I said it should have worked—I thought I could make it work!” he snapped. “Your Death, it’s changed, grown beyond all comprehension. I don’t even know what to call it!”
“I don’t understand any of this! All these deaths and boxes and ridiculous spells!” she shouted. “You can’t let it take him—I can’t be here without him! Why can’t you understand that?”
“You may not have to,” he sighed.
Now the Count perked up, sensing a threat to Mary herself. Blackbeard took her hand (despite her reluctance) and tried to explain and apologize at once.
“My dear, I’ve failed you both, just as I failed his father so many years ago. He came to me with an impossible request. Any other magician would have denied him. But I looked into his eyes and identified with his pain…little understanding the terrible consequences of saying ‘yes.’ I never asked myself what would happen to a Death torn away from its host, a death removed from the cycle of living. If Death is not death, what is it?”
“So it’s not0">“So n“ ">
“Not exactly. Without you it grew into something dark, a creature that thinks and hates and desires. It still needs you…but it wants others, too.”
The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) Page 6
